


spread my dreams under your feet

by thundersquall



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Magical Realism, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Prophetic Dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 21:00:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18018356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thundersquall/pseuds/thundersquall
Summary: It's not that having dreams is a big deal. Hell, even having dreams aboutPatrickwouldn't be considered a big deal, for most people. And even for someone like Jonny - he's dreamed about Patrick before, lots of times. He dreamed Patrick would win the Conn Smythe, for fuck's sake. And then hedid.See, that's the little detail that makes Jonny's dreamsa big fucking deal.





	spread my dreams under your feet

**Author's Note:**

> all my love for heartstrings, who betaed this for me and is, as always, my tireless cheerleader <333 you're the best!
> 
> shoutout to fenweak and Andi, who provided me with the links embedded within the fic which show examples of jonny's 'visions', heh. thank you both for helping me search for them!
> 
> title from william butler yeats' poem '[Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven'](https://interestingliterature.com/2015/11/06/a-short-analysis-of-yeatss-he-wishes-for-the-cloths-of-heaven/).

Patrick's in the kitchen when Jonny wakes up.

The house is bright with the summer sun and Jonny blinks against the light as he wanders into the kitchen. Patrick has his back to him, Jonny's shorts slipping low on his hips, while he scrambles eggs on the stove. It smells amazing, and Jonny's stomach makes the tiniest of rumbles.

"Hey, babe," he says as he slides up behind Patrick, putting an arm around his waist and dropping a kiss on the back of his head, into the mess of soft, fine curls. "Smells good."

"Morning," Patrick says easily, leaning back into his touch. "I'm finishing up on the eggs soon, but I made you your smoothie already."

"You're the best," Jonny says. He leans over Patrick's shoulder to kiss him again on the corner of his mouth, and watches as Patrick breaks into a smile. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes are very pronounced this close up, and Jonny thinks ruefully that he's no better himself now with the patchwork of fine lines across his forehead and around his mouth, and the silver streaks in his dark hair, that he sees in the mirror every morning.

His smoothie's sitting on the kitchen island - a blend of oat milk, chia seeds, bananas, blueberries, kale, celery, avocados, and a handful of nuts. Old habits die hard; they might no longer be playing hockey, but Jonny doesn't feel _right_ still if he doesn't start his day off with a smoothie, and thankfully Patrick's patient enough to throw one together for him most mornings.

"Okay, after breakfast, I'm going to drive out and grab a few things we still need for Cabo," Patrick says as he sets a plate of eggs down across from Jonny and hops onto the stool opposite him. "What time are you going to pick the kids up?"

"In about an hour, I think," Jonny says. "Maman said she'd make breakfast for the kids, and then call me when they're dressed and ready. Oh, yeah, while you're out, can you get - "

"More of the Babyganics sunscreen? Yeah, it's on my list."

"I was going to say lube," Jonny says, grinning.

Patrick rolls his eyes at Jonny. "I already bought extra and packed it, you dork."

"Good," Jonny says, waggling his eyebrows at Patrick in a lascivious way that would have gotten him a laugh, when they were younger. But all it gets him now is another eyeroll and a tiny quirk of Patrick's lips.

"Good luck to us getting to use that at all, with our three rascals," Patrick says, swallowing a forkful of eggs.

"Oh, we'll find a way," Jonny says, and winks.

Patrick gives an exasperated sigh. "Fifteen years of marriage and you're still a such a nerd." But there's no heat in his words, just the same sweet fondness there's always been for the past -

"Oh my god," Jonny says out loud, feeling abruptly thunderstruck. "We've been married _fifteen years_ already?"

Patrick stares at him. "Yes? We're celebrating our wedding anniversary this week which is the exact reason we're going to Cabo? Did you actually forget that?"

"No, of course not, it's just - fifteen years?" Jonny says in shock. He has no idea why it seems so shocking to him, just that it doesn't seem - possible, somehow. The surprise of it hits him like a brick - hard enough for him to physically jolt upright.

Then Jonny wakes up, _for real_.

Well, fuck.

\---

It's not that having dreams is a big deal. Hell, even having dreams about _Patrick_ wouldn't be considered a big deal, for most people. And even for someone like Jonny - he's dreamed about Patrick before, lots of times. He dreamed Patrick would win the Conn Smythe, for fuck's sake. And then he _did_.

See, that's the little detail that makes Jonny's dreams _a big fucking deal_.

\---

When Jonny was thirteen, he started dreaming.

He'd never had dreams before then - or if he did, he could never remember them when he woke up. He'd listen to his friends and classmates talk about the horrifying nightmare they'd had, or their nice dream of their parents buying them the latest pair of hockey skates, and he'd sit and wonder why he'd never ever had one.

But a few months after he turned thirteen, he had his first dream. It wasn't a particularly nice one; he dreamed he and David were skating on the backyard rink his dad had built for them, like they always did, just shooting pucks, practicing their skating and stickhandling, all the usual shit. But at one point, as Jonny was chasing David across the ice, both of them laughing and yelling, David's skate caught in a small divot in the ice, and down he went.

Jonny saw it happen in slow motion in his dream: the tip of David's skate blade catching in that crack, David falling forward too fast for Jonny to catch. His ankle, his whole skate boot, turning in a sickening way ankles should never turn as he went down. His shocked, sharp cry of pain that jerked Jonny awake, where he found his face clammy with sweat.

It was a bad dream, but it was the first ever dream he could remember having. He ran down to where his mom was washing dishes in the kitchen, to tell her excitedly about it.

"Jonathan, you shouldn't be this excited about a nightmare," his mom chided him gently, smiling a little as she listened to his breathless description of the entire thing.

"No, but maman, it's my first dream ever. I've never had a dream before," Jonny said, and watched as his mother's hands slipped on the plate she was holding. It clattered into the sink loudly, but his mom paid it no mind, and whirled round to stare at him.

"What do you mean?" she said. "You've never had a dream before this one? I was certain you told me you had a dream before, something about going to a party with Dan, yes?"

"No, this is my first one," Jonny said, wondering why his mom looked so stunned. "It was Dave who dreamed that, about him going to some birthday party with Nathan, not me and Dan. What's wrong, maman?"

"Oh," his mother said. She took a deep breath. "No, nothing's wrong. Just - "

David came downstairs then, asking for cereal. Jonny watched as his mom turned to David with her usual smile, got his favourite cereal and some milk out for him, and just like that, the weirdness of the moment earlier was broken.

Jonny didn't think about it again until a couple of months later, when winter was thick on the ground and their backyard rink was up - he'd forgotten about that dream by then, because he'd started properly dreaming, every few nights or so, and they were no longer a novelty - and he chased David across their rink in the exact way he'd dreamed about, and watched David go down, his ankle twisted awkwardly under him, in that exact same way.

That was when his mom finally explained to him that he, Jonathan Toews, a thirteen-year-old boy from Winnipeg, somehow has this special power where his dreams, sometimes, can actually show him the future. That the fact he never had a dream before puberty was a sign he had it. That this ability is something that's been passed down through generations of his mom's family. That his mom doesn't have it, but his grandmother did.

Jonny had a million questions about his - his _visions_ , what the hell - but his mom couldn't tell him much since she didn't have the ability. There were only three things he remembered clearly from that conversation: that not all his dreams were visions and not all of them would come true; that he wouldn't know which of his dreams were visions and which were just normal dreams until they came to pass; and that he should never, _ever_ , use his precognitive power irresponsibly, or try to influence or change the future based on what he saw.

Jonny promised her solemnly that he would never do that. It wasn't difficult for him, and in all the years since then, it's never been hard. Jonny's always taken any responsibility very seriously.

\---

That's all worked well for Jonny until this morning in February when he wakes up from a dream of being married to Patrick Kane, and for the first time in his life, wonders if he should actually try to do something, anything, to steer his life either down that path or away from it.

And, by god, why is he even thinking about - going down the road of marrying Patrick, for fuck's sake? Sure, he had a dream about it, and he has no idea if it's a vision or a dream, but either way - why _Patrick_ of all people? He's been friends with Patrick since they were thirteen, teammates since they were eighteen; if anything would have happened between them, like - romantically - it should have happened by now, through three Cups and all the high emotions and low downturns of their lives. And it certainly would have happened that one and only time he kissed Patrick, during the World Juniors in Sweden, when he was nursing that stupid teenage crush.

But it didn't, and over the years that followed, Jonny's crush turned out to not be _just_ a teenage crush, but something more; something that would make Jonny willingly walk on hot coals for Patrick. Except that he knows Patrick's never going to love him back - but once he trained himself to accept that they're close friends and will never move on to anything more, Jonny's been zen about all of it; but then he had to go and have a dream.

So suffice to say: that cosy, domestic dream Jonny had about Patrick this morning is fucking him up good and proper right now.

\---

He goes to practice that morning feeling weary and out of sorts, something that Patrick, of course, picks up on.

"Hey, Jonny," he says during practice, as they're lined up waiting to take shots at Collin. "You okay today? You seem tired."

"I'm okay," Jonny grunts. He's not looking at Patrick, but Patrick skates round until he's standing right in front of Jonny, and bumps him gently in the shoulder.

"You're a bit - off, today," Patrick says, narrowing his eyes.

"I'm - yeah, okay, I'm a little tired," Jonny says; it's easier to agree than have to make up some kind of excuse.

It works, thankfully; Patrick just nudges him again. "Better make sure you nap later before the game," he says, and then skates off when Coach calls him.

Except - fuck, now Jonny's thinking about his pregame nap, and then sleeping later tonight, and - god, what if he dreams about Patrick again?

He spends the rest of practice feeling jittery and slightly annoyed with everything; the guys pick up on his mood and give him a wide berth, even though Jonny catches Patrick looking at him a few times with concern in his eyes. But he finishes up his shower and gets out of there before Patrick can corner him again; and crawls into bed after he gets home, a little pall of dread settling over him.

He manages to fall asleep eventually, but he doesn't dream. Thank god.

\---

The dream hangs on Jonny's mind, but he doesn't dream about Patrick again for the next few months. He gets a few others: he dreams that Dan proposes to his girlfriend, which he actually does; Jonny gets the text telling him about it, a couple of weeks after he'd dreamed it. He dreams that the Blackhawks squeak into the playoffs by a single point - the jury's still out on that one. And he dreams that he buys a new house, which, what? He's only just moved into his new condo building, so he dismisses that one.

The thing is, Jonny's rationale for his dreams have always been that if it happens, it happens - he knows he's not supposed to do anything to influence events, but he figures that if his dreams come true, it'll end up happening anyway, whether he presses against that flow of fate or destiny or whatever people call it, or not.

So he's always maintained a pretty even chill about his visions, but that one with Patrick really throws him out of whack for a good couple of months. He doesn't really - _know_ how he feels about it, but he keeps turning it over and over in his mind. If it wasn't a vision, that's all well and good, but then why would he be having dreams about being married to _Patrick_ and not to the hot guy he chatted up at the bar the week before?

And if it was an actual vision - fucking hell, that means somewhere in his future, Patrick actually falls in love with him for real, and that's a - terrifying thought. Patrick's one of his best and closest friends, but love has never been in their equation. He'd be lying if he said he hasn't thought about Patrick like that before; except Patrick had made it very clear, way back then, that it wasn't ever going to happen. And over the years, Jonny's built up that wall around his mind and heart, just to make sure that it wouldn't happen. He's certain that nothing's changed on _that_ front.

All in all, Jonny's smart enough to know that down that path leads only madness; he needs to stop thinking about that stupid dream and fixating on it, because if he starts acting different around Patrick and it influences his future one way or another - he doesn't think he can deal with it. He's learned to handle not having Patrick's heart. He doesn't think he can handle not having Patrick at all.

So he forces himself to stop focusing on it, and as the weeks go by and he doesn't have another dream about Patrick, it gets a lot easier, and Patrick's none the wiser.

\---

Patrick comes down with a cold one day and Jonny's immediately concerned when he sees Patrick come in for their home game against the Isles. His nose and eyes are red and he's hoarse when he speaks; he keeps sniffling and rubbing Vicks under his nose, and his face is flushed.

"Uh, I don't think you should be playing tonight," Jonny says, standing in front of him with his arms crossed over his chest.

Patrick glares at him; it's amazing how imperious Patrick can still look even in the grips of a fever. "Fuck off," he says, nasal with the cold.

"No - I'm serious, you shouldn't be playing," Jonny says. He cups the palm of his hand against the side of Patrick's neck; he feels warm but not burning hot, at least. "Pretty sure you're running a fever, buddy. And you can't breathe with that nose stuffed up."

"I'll be fine," Patrick grunts. "Dr. Terry's going to give me a shot, and the Vicks and ammonia will clear up my nose. Stop worrying."

Jonny looks down at him hesitantly; he knows wild horses can't drag Patrick off the ice, and he trusts Patrick to know his own body, but he can't help being worried. "Okay, fine, but you better say something if you feel like you can't go out there, yeah?"

"Yeah," Patrick says. He looks up at Jonny, and there's the glimmer of a smile. "Stop freaking out, Jonny. I promise I'm okay."

"You better be," Jonny says. He squeezes the back of Patrick's neck, a comforting touch, and heads off to get suited up for the game.

\---

Patrick is absolutely _not_ okay.

His breathing turns rattly and laboured by the time third period starts; they're up 2-1 but Patrick's got no points and only one shot on goal so far. He's rubbing Vicks under his nose like a maniac between shifts and huffing ammonia like an addict, but his face is shiny and flushed with sweat in a way it usually never is, even after a long shift. Jonny takes one look at him and knows he's not going to make it to the end of the game.

When Jeremy taps Jonny on the shoulder and he stands up, ready to hop over the boards, Patrick stands up as well; both Jonny and Jeremy turn to him. "No," Jonny says, glancing over at their coach.

"Not you, Kaner," Jeremy says, and Jonny feels a rush of gratitude. "Jules, Cat, you're out with Tazer. Go."

Jonny goes over the boards just in time to hear Patrick snarl, "Are you kidding me?"

The good thing is that he scores on this shift off a gorgeous pass from Alex; they're leading 3-1 with less than five minutes to go, and he thinks Patrick should at least be a little more relaxed about that. But when he heads back to the bench, Patrick's nowhere in sight.

"Where's Kaner?" he demands of Saader, who's seated closest to him.

"Coach made him go back into the locker room. He sounded pretty bad," Saader says.

Okay, well, at least this means Jonny can finish out the game without worrying about Patrick.

\---

Jonny's grateful that today is Patrick's day to carpool with him to and from the game; Dr. Terry had given him something to bring his fever down, and some stuff for his nose and his throat, but Jonny thinks Patrick shouldn't be driving himself in this state. "I'm okay, Jonny," Patrick insists, hoarse and throaty, as Jonny practically drags him up to his apartment - just ten floors below Jonny's own - with an arm around his waist.

"I told you, you shouldn't have played," Jonny says as he gets Patrick's door unlocked and pulls him indoors.

"I thought I'd be fine," Patrick admits.

"Well, any idiot could see you weren't, and now you'll have to sit out the next game."

"Stop," Patrick says. "I feel shitty enough as it is."

Jonny heaves him onto his bed, clothes and all. "Okay, get your clothes off," he orders. "I'm going to get you something to drink."

"Perv," Patrick says sleepily, but he's already tugging at his jeans, and Jonny rolls his eyes.

"Can't be a perv if I've seen it all before and don't want it," he says as he heads to Patrick's kitchen.

"Liar," Patrick shouts back.

Jonny gets Patrick a glass of cold water and one of OJ, before he grabs his own mug and fills it up with water for himself. Patrick had gotten it for him as a joke - the mug says "Do I look like a fucking people person?" in bold black text, and somehow it's ended up as the mug Jonny always uses when he's at Patrick's place - which is pretty often, actually.

By the time he gets back to the bedroom, Patrick's undressed and pulling a sweatshirt over his head; Jonny gets a glimpse of pale skin, firm, flat abs, and Patrick's dusky nipples before the shirt's pulled down, and is surprised to feel a strange - lump in his throat, or something.

Whatever. It's like he told Patrick - he's seen it a million times by now. He can appreciate a good body, and Patrick's a hockey player, so obviously he has a great body, but that doesn't mean Jonny _wants_ it.

His mind suddenly flashes back to that dream he had three months ago - Patrick standing in a kitchen with his naked back to him, muscles shifting subtly under all that fair freckled skin - and fuck, he _really_ doesn't need to be reminded of that right now.

"OJ for you," he says out loud, trying to distract himself.

"Thanks," Patrick says, and takes a few sips when Jonny puts the glass to his mouth. "Fuck, my throat is killing me."

"You should sleep," Jonny says, pulling the comforter over Patrick. He presses a hand to Patrick's forehead, still alarmingly warm, and can't resist smoothing the floppy curls back, soft and gentle.

Patrick blinks up at him. "You're gonna stay, right?"

Jonny shrugs. "Yeah, why not?" He has a ton of spare clothes and stuff in Patrick's guest bedroom anyway, built up over the years they keep spending at each other's homes, for whatever reason, and it's only gotten worse now that they've moved into the same building and are basically in each other's pockets all the time.

Not that Jonny's complaining. It's pretty convenient like this, living in the same place, for carpooling and running errands and various other reasons.

"Okay," Patrick says. "Thanks, Jonny."

"Sure, bud," Jonny says. "You'd do the same for me."

He watches Patrick's eyes slide shut, and then goes out to rummage through Patrick's pantry for a snack. He'll stay up and watch some TV, check in on Patrick in four hours, get his meds down him, and _then_ he'll sleep.

\---

"This isn't my gift, is it?" Jonny asks, looking down at their table and the remnants of their meal. "I mean, it was great, don't get me wrong - but I'd have thought you'd get me something better than a dinner for my birthday."

He's half-joking, but Patrick's mouth draws down into a sulky moue. "This isn't _just_ a dinner - it's a dinner at a Michelin-starred restaurant that just served us the best nine-course omakase meal we've ever had in our lives. Do you know how hard it was for me to get a reservation here? The place only has twelve seats and two seatings."

"I'm just teasing, babe," Jonny says, reaching across the table for Patrick's hand. He winds their fingers together, rubs his thumb gently over the callused knuckles. "You know I enjoyed it. Thank you."

The corners of Patrick's mouth turn upwards, his dimples flashing in and out. "You better," he says, but he squeezes Jonny's fingers in return. "Should we get another bottle of sake?"

"Yeah, I liked this one," Jonny says, tapping his finger against the delicate ceramic flask on their table, now empty. "I'll get one more of this."

He turns to flag a waiter down and ask for another bottle of the sake; but when he turns back, there's a box on the table sitting right in front of him, next to his plate. It's about the size of his palm, in a striking red finish, and the word _Cartier_ emblazoned across the top.

"Whoa," he says out loud. "Pat, this is - "

Patrick's cheeks are flushed and he's fidgeting in his seat, running his fingers self-consciously over his neck, the knot of his tie, over his face and jaw. "Don't freak out," he says. "That's your birthday gift. So you'll stop bitching about how all I got you was a fancy dinner."

Jonny picks up the box slowly and opens it; inside, nestled on a bed of snow-white velvet, is a gorgeous pair of cufflinks. They're shaped like hawks in flight, the wings set with glittering diamonds, with rubies for eyes and black onyx for the beaks.

"Hawks colours," Jonny says, lifting one out and gazing admiringly at it. "They're - wow, they're beautiful."

"I had them custom-made," Patrick says. "In Hawks colours, like you said."

"Of course I noticed," Jonny says. He looks up at Patrick, a warm wave of fondness flooding into his chest; he lucked out with him, he thinks, despite all the years of exasperation and how long it took them to get their shit together. "Patrick, I love you."

"Love you too," Patrick says; and then he leans forward, placing his hands on Jonny's thighs, and kisses Jonny full on the lips. It takes Jonny aback for a moment; Patrick's an affectionate guy in private, but he's almost never so effusive in public, too reserved to do anything more than hold hands with Jonny when they're out. "Happy birthday."

Jonny kisses him again. "You should marry me," he says when he pulls away and looks straight at Patrick, Patrick's eyes so wide and blue and soft; the words tumble out of his mouth without him even really thinking about it, as if these are the most natural next words for him to say after hearing 'happy birthday'.

He can hear the quick, shocked gasp of breath that Patrick sucks in, and then Patrick's hands tighten convulsively on his thighs, hard enough for him to -

Jonny jerks awake. The way he'd said "marry me", so sure and certain, is still reverberating in his mind, he blinks and Patrick's blue eyes, long-lashed and pretty, flash before his closed eyelids again.

Oh fuck. Oh, _fuck_.

\---

Patrick texts him later that day: _Where'd you go?_

Jonny stares at the text and hesitates. He's not proud of it, but he'd woken up in Patrick's guest room after his dream, panicked, and got out of there without even waiting for Pat to wake up. _Home_ , he replies, and hopes that by keeping it short and curt Patrick's not going to ask questions.

_Oh. Everything fine?_

_Yeah,_ Jonny texts back, and resists the temptation to ask how Patrick's doing. There's a panicky, irrational little part of his brain that somehow thinks if he shows more concern for Patrick than he should, he'll be dragged back into the dreams.

Patrick doesn't respond after that, and Jonny feels a bit guilty - hell, they're friends, but he just can't. He can't risk looking Patrick in the eye and having Patrick somehow find out that he's been having these dreams, or worse, visions about them.

Because what if - what if Jonny's having these dreams because there's that stupid part of him that's not giving up, that wants this to be true and wants this to happen, and Patrick doesn't?

Patrick broke his heart once, when they were seventeen.

He can't risk that happening again.

\---

Patrick comes back after three days and one missed game, still a little pale, but he jumps right into the next game and puts up two points, like he's never been out at all. Jonny wouldn't have expected anything less from him anyway.

Jonny gets showered and dressed as quickly as he can after the game, thinking he'll slip out before Patrick has a chance to talk to him - but Murph corners him to ask about something, and he's still stuck there when Patrick comes out of the showers, his curls damp and darkened. He's got his dress shirt and pants on, but he starts knotting his tie around his neck while standing in front of Jonny, and - there's something about the way his fingers move at his neck, Patrick's head tilted back to expose the smooth, pale column of his throat, that sends a punch of heat into Jonny's belly.

Murph moves off, and before Jonny can take a step, Patrick's by his side, smiling broadly. "Hey," he says, nudging Jonny gently. "Want to go out and get something to eat? I'm so hungry I could eat a whole cow. I hardly ate when I was sick at home."

Jonny feels bad right away, because - shit, he should have been staying with Patrick, looking after him, making sure he was getting food. But he reminds himself that Patrick's an adult and perfectly capable of fending for himself, and that Patrick doesn't _need_ him. "No," he says, and a look of surprise flits across Patrick's face.

"You don't want anything to eat?" Patrick asks doubtfully. "We'll go to that Greek place you like, how about that?"

"No," Jonny says, swallowing. "I - I've got something on. See you tomorrow."

He turns away, but not before seeing a flash of hurt in Patrick's eyes. Goddammit, he thinks helplessly.

\---

Jonny lies awake that night, thinking of all the times he's dreamed about Patrick.

There have been many over the years: there was the time he dreamed Patrick would finally break his scoring drought with a goal in Game 6, in the 2015 Stanley Cup Final, and he did. The time he dreamed Patrick would win the Hart, and he did too. That time he dreamed Patrick would get hurt when taking a bad spill on the ice and crashing into the boards, and he broke his collarbone then. The time he dreamed he went out to Cabo with Patrick the week after the 2014 All-Star Game, just the two of them, and the feeling of deja vu that came over him when Patrick asked him to do just that. "It'll be fun, Jonny," Patrick said persuasively, and Jonny couldn't say no. It had been a fantastic four days, with sunshine and a bright blue ocean, golfing by day and drinking by night, just shooting the shit and talking about everything and nothing at all.

Then there are the ones he's dreamed of, that never came true, like the one where he dreamed that Patrick won the Lady Byng in 2011, and he didn't. Or the one where Patrick got married to some girl; Patrick was twenty-five in that dream, so it's safe to say that one's not going to come true. And the one where he and Patrick were sitting in a tent on some campsite in Sedona, getting completely fucked up and strung out on too much pot. That's definitely not going to happen, ever, because Patrick hates camping with a vengeance.

The question is which pile his current dreams about Patrick fall into - and ten years ago if you'd asked Jonny what he wanted, he'd have hoped and prayed these would come true, no doubt about that. But now - now he's not so sure.

\---

When they were seventeen, they played against each other at the World Juniors, Jonny scored three shootout goals to help Canada to the gold medal, and kissed Patrick.

They knew each other well by then; they'd played with and against each other several times a year growing up, and even when that stopped as Jonny went to Shattuck and Patrick to Detroit, they kept in touch. Jonny kept tabs on Patrick's progress, sent him a gift when he got drafted by the London Knights and started tearing it up in the OHL; Patrick called him just to congratulate him when he got drafted third by the Blackhawks, and added cheekily, "I bet I'll go higher than you next year."

"I'll take that bet," Jonny said, laughing.

"Can't wait for World Juniors," Patrick said. "I miss playing against you, dude."

Jonny swallowed. "Yeah, me too," he said. He carefully left out the fact that he missed _Patrick_ , too, and not just his hockey.

When Canada won, Jonny got himself good and drunk (most of the team was still underaged, and no one gave a fuck because _gold medallists_ ), and somehow found his way to Patrick's room in the hotel, the floor above his. Patrick emerged at his knock, looking tired and flustered, his eyes widening at the sight of Jonny in his champagne-soaked Team Canada t-shirt.

"Jonny? What - "

Jonny leaned forward and kissed him.

The shocked inhale of breath Patrick took made his mouth fall open slightly, and Jonny licked into his mouth, dizzy on the taste of him, minty and sweet from toothpaste. And for one glorious second Patrick kissed back, his full, lush lips closing over Jonny's; Jonny felt that, he _knew_ that, he'd swear to his grave that Patrick kissed him back.

But then Patrick pushed him with his palms on his chest - not hard, but enough to push Jonny away from him, and when he looked up at Jonny his eyes were wide and shocked. "What the fuck, Jonny?" he asked, and it was the way he _looked_ at Jonny, like he was - angry, maybe even a little disgusted, that cleared Jonny's head and took him from pretty drunk to sober in a hurry.

"Shit," Jonny said. "I'm - I don't know what came over me. I'm sorry."

The words hung between them like a thick, choking fog that Jonny couldn't see past. But what he could see was Patrick's face, white as a sheet, but his mouth red and wet - wet from Jonny's own mouth. Fuck.

"What the hell did you think you were doing?" Patrick said, and he wasn't yelling but the quiet, stunned way in which he was speaking made Jonny feel about ten times worse.

"I don't know," Jonny said helplessly. "Look, I'm sorry, okay?"

"You can't just - go around kissing people when you feel like it," Patrick hissed. "There must be a reason for it, other than you smelling like a fucking brewery."

"I like you, okay?" Jonny blurted out. "I've liked you since - since I saw you. When we were kids. And - I just thought - I don't _know_ what I was thinking, okay, I'm just - so fucked up right now."

Jonny was staring at Patrick as he stumbled through his words, so he could see the exact moment Patrick's face practically _closed_ up, like someone had drawn shutters over it.

It actually hurt more than he'd thought it would.

"Jonny, I'm sorry," Patrick said, surprisingly gentle. "But I don't - I mean, I'm not that way at all. I don't - I like you. But as a friend. And - that's all we can be."

Jonny took a step backwards, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Oh," he said. He should have thought of this, actually. Of course Patrick wasn't gay, or into guys. And Jonny just - literally pressed a kiss on him, without his consent. _Fuck._

"I'm so sorry," he said again, feeling suddenly and utterly ashamed of himself. A wave of nausea swept over him. "I didn't mean to - fuck. This isn't me."

"I know this isn't you," Patrick said. He reached out and squeezed Jonny's shoulder - his hand burned through Jonny's thin t-shirt like a brand. "It's okay. No hard feelings. We're friends, right?"

"Friends," Jonny said, even though it made him want to vomit even more.

"Go to bed and sleep it off, Jonny," Patrick said. "Go on."

"I'm sorry," Jonny said again, and once Patrick's door was shut, he made his way on wobbly legs down the corridor, into the elevator, and to his room, where he threw up so hard his head started pounding and didn't stop for the rest of the night.

\---

Patrick had been right when he said there were no hard feelings.

It's just that, well. There were still Jonny's _feelings_.

He'd trained himself over the years. Put those feelings away in a lockbox and dropped it into the deepest recesses in the well of his mind. He's gone through eleven years as teammates and roommates with Patrick, had relationships of his own, watched Patrick have relationships himself, with no issues.

But his stupid fucking dreams - or visions, whatever - have fished that lockbox right back up to the surface.

\---

If Jonny had been in a clearer frame of mind, he'd probably have realised this makes no sense, but as it is, the confusion and the panic somehow makes him come to just one conclusion: he needs to protect himself, and his heart, and he needs to try not to affect the future, so his best course of action is _obviously_ to stop talking to Patrick entirely. Stop talking to him, stop hanging out with him, stop doing anything with him at all unless it's on-ice duties. Stop everything, and maybe his heart has a chance to heal and he'll stop having these stupid dreams that are giving him hope, and then he's not going to be let down when they inevitably don't happen.

It actually turns out to be much harder than Jonny expects; clearly, he hasn't actually noticed how much time he spends with Pat until he actively starts forcing himself to avoid him, especially now that they're living in the same building. Jonny curses himself for ever giving Patrick the idea to sell his Trump Tower condo and purchase a unit in the same condo development he did.

The next time they have morning skate, Jonny leaves home half an hour earlier than usual; he knows what time Patrick will turn up at his door because they've gotten into the habit of carpooling to practice and games together, and he figures he'll tell Patrick to go on his own from now on. He's on the way to MB Ice Arena when his phone lights up with a text from Patrick. _Hey, where are you?_

Jonny waits for a stoplight before he texts back: _Went ahead first, drive yourself_. When Patrick replies with a _Man, you could have told me earlier, I've been knocking on your door for five minutes_ , he feels a flash of guilt, but steels himself.

 _Yeah, think it's a better idea if I went on my own from now on._ he texts back when he reaches the arena, and doesn't bother to dress it up with a joke about Patrick being lazy or pampered, like he usually would.

He makes sure he's already suited up and out on the ice when Patrick comes out; he looks over at Jonny immediately, forehead creased in a frown, and Jonny's not imagining the flash of hurt that sweeps over Patrick's face when he very deliberately turns his back towards Patrick and starts talking to Brookbank instead.

He stays away from Patrick the entire practice and hangs around the others instead, moving from one knot of players to another whenever he feels that Patrick might be coming close. By the end of practice Patrick seems to get it; he's staying away from Jonny, but Jonny can feel Patrick's eyes on the back of his head as if he's glaring a hole into his skull, and the one time he makes eye contact with Pat, he's looking bewildered and upset.

Patrick corners him once practice is over by literally crowding him into his stall before he can even sneak off for a shower. "What's going on?" he says, and he's not raising his voice but the tone of it makes Jonny feel as if he's yelling all up in his face.

"What? Nothing," Jonny says defensively.

"I'm not stupid," Patrick says, his blue eyes turning dark with anger. "You're avoiding me, I can see it - what the hell is going on with you?"

"I said _nothing_ ," Jonny says. "Jesus, I just wanted to get to practice earlier - you gonna fault me for that?"

"You could at least have told me," Patrick says.

Jonny shrugs. "I forgot," he says, and hopes Patrick buys the lie.

"And what was that out there - you refused to talk to me or look at me - what the fuck is happening?"

"I said _nothing_ ," Jonny says, feeling an irrational spike of irritation flare up.

"You can't lie for shit," Patrick says angrily. "This isn't even the first time - you've been avoiding me for weeks. You don't want to hang out anymore, you don't want to talk to me, and now you're flat out ignoring me at practice? At least have the balls to tell me if you're mad at me about something."

"For god's sake - listen, sometimes I just need to be on my own, okay?" Jonny says, losing the tenuous hold he has on his own temper. "Do you really have to be this clingy all the time? Do we really need to do everything and go everywhere together? We're not supposed to be this fucking codependent, Kaner. It's not healthy."

He's aware he's angry at himself, not at Patrick; upset about his dreams, annoyed at his own stupidity because yeah, he can see now, it's not the best or most feasible idea he's had, doing this to Patrick. But it's too late to swallow his words back now; he can see a visible pall of anger and hurt descend over Patrick's face like a dark cloud, and it hits him like a gut punch that _he_ did this, he put this look on Patrick's face.

"Okay," Patrick says, taking a deep breath; his voice is shaky, and Jonny _hates_ himself and his stupid goddamn visions right now. "Didn't know you felt that way, but okay. Don't talk to me again."

He turns on his heel and walks off, and Jonny's left with a hollow ache in his chest as he watches Patrick's familiar back disappear around the corner, and the overriding thought in his mind, crowding into his head, echoing in his ears: _what the hell have I done?_

\---

Patrick keeps his word. He never talks to Jonny after that. Doesn't so much as look at him, not even when they're squeezed shoulder to shoulder on the bench. On the ice he's the picture of professionalism; they still feed off each other beautifully, perfect pinpoint tic-tac-toe passing, and they continue to light it up - but off the ice they may as well be complete strangers.

Jonny knows he's the one who started this, but it fucking _hurts_. He's known Patrick for nearly twenty years, been one of his best friends since they were eighteen; in the past decade, there hasn't been much Jonny's done where he didn't have Patrick by his side. All the Cups - he won them with Patrick right next to him, and during the low years, Patrick was the first one he always turned to and leaned on. Patrick was the one who kept him going with his belief that they'd turn it around and come back. When Jonny found out Adam had been cheating on him, Patrick was the first person to turn up at his house with food, a bottle of good wine, a listening ear, and then helped him dig up every last thing Adam had left in his home so he could toss it in the trash. When Jonny sat out half of 2012 with his concussion, Patrick had called him every day, stayed in his condo with him, even long after his mom had returned to Winnipeg; it was Patrick who had clutched at him and cried into his chest after his car accident and made him promise that he'd get his head checked, that he'd make sure he healed before he came back to hockey. Jonny can still feel the wetness of Patrick's tears soaking through the fabric of his shirt, warm against his chest, when he thinks about that moment.

There have been so many good and bad things in his life - mostly good, he can't lie - and the one common denominator amongst them all is Patrick.

It's always been Patrick for him. He knows that now; it's been a futile effort all these years for Jonny to _not_ love him. But he just might have lost Patrick for good.

\---

It drags on for nearly three more months - possibly the three worst and most miserable months of Jonny's life. The absence of Patrick in his life is like a gaping wound in his side that gets torn open again and again, bleeding out each time he sees Patrick, and hockey means they still see each other nearly every day. Except that Patrick treats him as if he's invisible, and on occasions when they do have to talk, he speaks without making eye contact with Jonny, sounding cold and stilted and formal. So near, and yet so far.

Jonny misses him so much it _aches_. But he doesn't know how to fix it. Maybe it's gone too far now to ever be fixed.

And despite the fact that Patrick now occupies every waking moment of his thoughts - ironically, even more than he ever had before Jonny started dreaming about him - Jonny doesn't dream about Patrick again.

\---

"Oh yeah," Jonny says. His throat feels raw and scraped and his mouth tastes of lube and come. "Yeah, that's it, suck a little harder - _yeah_ , you got it."

Patrick's kneeling between his legs on the bed, his curls dark and matted from sweat. They've been at this for - shit, Jonny doesn't even know how long, he just knows that even though his cock is aching and he feels wrung out he's going to come again just from Patrick's mouth on him, his red, wet lips stretched sweet and tight around the base of his cock. He's sucking hard enough for his cheeks to hollow, working hard at it, his ass high in the air.

Jonny wants to put his hands on that ass again, fuck it a few more times before they're done. From his vantage point he can see a gleaming, sticky trail of come making its slow way down Patrick's inner thigh, from when they fucked previously and Jonny came inside him before Patrick pushed him flat to the bed and got his mouth back on his dick like he just couldn't get enough.

Patrick's Adam's apple is bobbing as he swallows Jonny's cock into his throat. It makes Jonny gasp, the suction of his clever mouth and the contraction of his throat muscles around his cockhead almost too much for Jonny's oversensitized cock to bear. But fuck, it's good, it's _amazing_ , and Jonny reaches down to press his fingers against Patrick's cheeks, feel the way his cock bulges out the inside of his mouth as Patrick works his head up and down on it.

"Ah, fuck," Jonny groans, thumping his head back on the pillow, "you're so fucking _good_ at this." He lets his fingers trail down to Patrick's throat, wraps his hand around it; he can _feel_ when Patrick sucks in a quick, eager breath. Around his cock, shoved deep in his throat. He doesn't apply any pressure, just leaves his hand there, but he kind of thinks that if he were to start squeezing, just a little, Patrick wouldn't mind, not with the way he's almost humping the air right now, the perfect roundness of his ass framed against the wall across the bed, and the way he's sucking harder now, slurping greedily at Jonny's cock. Fuck. It's mindblowing.

Patrick drags himself off his cock; there's a silvery trail of spit that stretches between his swollen, fucked-red lower lip and the equally red, wet head of Jonny's cock, and Jonny watches in fascination as it lengthens until it breaks. When Patrick's finally upright on his knees, Jonny can see that his cock is full and heavy again, nearly back to full hardness, and he's flushed red from his cheeks all the way down to his tight, peaked nipples.

"I want - " Patrick says, clumsily kneewalking upwards to straddle Jonny's body, spreading his legs over the broad sprawl of Jonny's thighs. His voice is _wrecked_ ; it makes Jonny's cock twitch. He coughs a little, running the back of his hand shakily over his mouth.

"What do you want, baby?" Jonny asks, getting both hands on Patrick's hips to steady him, help him move up until he's hovering above Jonny's cock. The trail of come leaking from him that Jonny had noticed earlier is almost at his knee now; he smears it over Jonny's hip as he moves, but between the both of them they're already so filthy with lube and sweat and spit and come that Jonny doesn't give a shit.

"Fuck me again," Patrick says. His blue eyes are blown wide and dark and hazy; his arms are goosepimpled and Jonny runs his hands up and down them, soothing him, calming him. He's trembling a little, but not from cold. Jonny thinks this must be the fourth time tonight that they're fucking, and Patrick's still needing it so much that he's shaking from it.

"Yeah, I'm here," Jonny murmurs, and slips a hand between Patrick's open thighs, behind the heavy firmness of his balls, and between his cheeks, sticky and slippery still. He sinks three fingers into Patrick without preamble; they go in smooth and easy with absolutely no resistance or drag, and Patrick moans, his short nails scrabbling over Jonny's pecs.

"Please, please, Jonny," Patrick pleads, and Jonny pulls his fingers out, spreads his cheeks open, and drags Patrick down onto his cock.

Patrick's so loose and open that there's nearly no friction for Jonny, but he doesn't care. It's good enough to see the way Patrick works himself on his cock, his eyes half-closed and his mouth hanging open and his breath coming in little short, sharp gasps while he rocks his hips back and forth on it. He's hot and so wet inside that Jonny can hear the obscene, squelching sounds his cock makes as Patrick fucks himself on it. Patrick's entire body is taut and straining, his cock slapping against Jonny's abs each time he bounces, and Jonny knows that Patrick's so close, so close to it -

He spreads his hands over the firm roundness of Patrick's asscheeks, pulling them open and then squeezing them tight together, his cock trapped in between them every time Patrick rises and drops on his knees. This - this way he can come, Patrick's cheeks offering him some friction to rub against as he pushes them tight over his cock while Patrick continues to ride him with abandon. His breaths are coming quicker now; he's making these little high-pitched whimpers each time he sinks down on Jonny's cock, sounds that go right to Jonny's gut.

"Jonny, yes, _yes_ ," Patrick says, almost chanting, and Jonny feels his own orgasm crest in his lower belly, his balls tightening up. "Yes - gonna come again - "

Jonny wakes up. His cock is _throbbing_ and aching and he's so hard he could pound fucking nails into the wall. He feels like pounding his _head_ into the wall, because - jesus. He's just had a dream - a _sex dream_ \- about Patrick, after nearly three months without dreaming of him.

Or a vision? Fuck, if it wasn't a dream but an actual vision -

Jonny doesn't know what the hell he's doing anymore, but when he grips his cock in his fist it makes him gasp out loud into the quiet darkness of his bedroom. He's so overheated, so ramped up just from his dream, that every touch feels ten times more intense than usual; he strokes his cock lightly from tip to base, sliding his foreskin down so he can rub his palm over his cockhead and groan at the oversensitivity.

He lets himself think: what if it was a vision?

He could have this. He could have Patrick, by his side, in his bed. He could marry Patrick, have a family. He could fuck Patrick the way he'd done in his dream, both of them messy and delirious with it, Patrick sweaty and desperate for his cock as he rides him, using him to get off even though he's slippery with the thick slide of lube and Jonny's come from previous times, no friction or drag at all. Begging for Jonny, wanting to be filled, wanting all of Jonny -

Jonny's orgasm hits him harder than a middle-of-the-night, carelessly-eked-out orgasm from his own hand has any right to; his cock pulses in his fist as he shoots over his fist and his belly, his toes curl, and for a glorious moment before his mind wipes out he sees Patrick from his dream on top of him, as clear as day, his head thrown back in pleasure as he fucks himself on Jonny's cock.

It takes a good few seconds before Jonny can blink his eyes open; he looks down his body, at the shimmering white streaks of come over himself, visible even in the darkness, and says out loud, "Okay, oh god, fuck, maybe this is a thing after all."

\---

He wants Patrick, in all the ways, in every way. That much he knows. The problem is whether Patrick wants him back.

Patrick had told him, when they were seventeen, that he didn't. And for the thirteen years since then, Jonny's just - operated under the assumption that that particular sentiment had never and would never change.

But when he forces himself to think about it - really think, when morning arrives without him falling back asleep and he's sitting in his kitchen, with the bright sunlight streaming in giving him no place to hide - it makes him wonder if that's true.

He remembers when he'd first started dating Chloe, in the spring of 2012. It was some time after his concussion. He'd told Patrick about it one evening, when they were having dinner, that he thought he might be pretty serious about Chloe, and he felt like he wanted to take it a step further with her, make it exclusive.

Patrick had stopped chewing for two long seconds, and just as Jonny had thought it was getting a _little_ weird, he swallowed and looked down at his plate. "That's good for you, dude," he'd said. "I'm happy for you." Then he'd looked back up at Jonny, cracked some joke about how he couldn't believe Jonny had found a girl willing to put up with his slobby mess, and things seemed to snap back into place after that weird moment. Except that less than a month later, Patrick went to Madison, and got himself so fucked up that Jonny almost couldn't recognise that this person he was seeing splashed all over Deadspin was his best friend.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he'd asked Patrick, when they finally met back in Chicago, Patrick suitably disgraced.

Patrick shrugged. "I wasn't thinking, simple as that."

But there was something about that answer, and the way Patrick had looked when he was talking to Jonny - restless, fidgety, shifting his weight from foot to foot and refusing to look Jonny in the eye - that didn't leave Jonny feeling it was the right answer. But Patrick didn't put a foot wrong after that - he kept his head down, trained hard, worked hard, and just before he went to Biel, told Jonny that he'd met a girl named Emily, and it was serious enough that she was going to follow him to Biel.

Jonny had been surprised at the way that had made him feel; it was like a little electric jolt to his throat. He wasn't supposed to feel this way about Patrick anymore. Patrick had dated and fucked any number of girls since they both came to the Blackhawks; Jonny knew that for a fact.

But he'd never been _serious_ about any of them.

"That's really great, Pat," Jonny said, turning on a smile, injecting as much sincerity into his voice as he could.

Four months later, he split from Chloe, and when Patrick returned from Biel, it was without Emily. "It just didn't work out," Patrick had told him, and then left it at that. Jonny didn't want to push any further.

And well, the less said about Adam the better, but he remembers now that Patrick had absolutely _hated_ Adam. "That guy's bad news," he'd snapped at Jonny one day when they had been bickering over something so trivial that Jonny can't even recall what it is now.

"What's wrong with him?" Jonny said, feeling defensive. Adam was the first guy he'd been able to be with since Patrick's rejection of him at the World Juniors.

"I just have a bad feeling about him," Patrick said, scowling.

They'd fought some more, but Patrick's bad feeling turned out to be right, but he was there for Jonny every step of the way through that ugly breakup; and to his credit, he never once told Jonny "I told you so". Even though he could have.

And there have been other things over the years that's sometimes made Jonny think, _maybe_ , before his brain shut the thoughts down quick: the way Patrick looks at him sometimes, soft and - there's really no other word for it - _sweet_ , his tongue peeking out to swipe over his bottom lip as he gives Jonny that particular smile which Jonny's never seen him use on anyone else. The way Patrick likes to sit close to him, whether they're at home or a hotel or on the team plane, all pressed up against Jonny, almost curling into him like Jonny's a comforting blanket. More than once he's fallen asleep on Jonny's shoulder on a plane ride home from a tough game, pressing his face into Jonny's neck, and Jonny would put his arm round Patrick and cradle him so he'd be more comfortable. Patrick never spoke of those times, but he never seemed embarrassed either when he woke up. He'd just give Jonny that smile of his, stand up and stretch, and then wander to the bathroom like nothing had happened.

There had been one night in Cabo, when they were vacationing there together, that Jonny thinks something might have happened. They'd drank a lot at dinner and when they returned to their villa they had been more than a little tipsy, and somehow they thought it was a good idea to get into the outdoor hot tub, totally naked. The daytime view was spectacular, with bright blue skies and the expanse of clear, turquoise ocean in front of the villa's infinity pool and hot tub; but at night, there had been nothing to look at except some twinkling lights in the distance and the stars above them, and each other.

Patrick had been a little sleepy and slurry, as he tended to get when he was drunk. They'd started off in the jacuzzi sitting opposite each other, but as they talked, Patrick kept inching closer to him until he was leaning against Jonny; Jonny didn't mind. Patrick had tipped his head back onto his shoulder to look up into his face, and he sighed.

"What's wrong?" Jonny asked. This close, he could see the long golden lashes fringing Patrick's wide blue eyes, dark with water from the hot tub; there were freckles scattered across Patrick's nose and cheeks, brought out by the strong Cabo sun, and as he tilted his head further up, Jonny could see the sharp angle of his jaw, the smooth, soft column of his throat.

He distinctly remembers thinking he wanted to nuzzle into that spot, see if Patrick's skin tasted as smooth as it looked. And then he'd forced himself to look away from Patrick, because down that path lay only madness, and he didn't come on a getaway with Patrick just to ruin their friendship by doing something he shouldn't.

Patrick didn't let him look away. "Jonny," he said, "look at me."

So Jonny did; and _that_ was definitely a mistake, because now he was looking directly at Patrick's mouth, plump and luscious and pink, and - god, he's still not sure if he had imagined it, but Patrick seemed to be lifting himself up, coming closer to Jonny's mouth - he remembers how he sat frozen in the tub, waiting for the moment their lips would meet, waiting for the inevitable rejection again, for Patrick to push away and say, "I'm not into guys, Jonny. I'm not into you that way."

None of that happened. Instead, Patrick yawned abruptly, his mouth stretching wide in front of Jonny's face before he snapped it shut. "Oh, shit," he said, sounding awkward, like he was trying to laugh and failing. "I guess I'm tired. We should get out and go to bed."

Jonny blinked, and the next thing he saw was Patrick pushing off to the edge of the tub, hauling himself up, water streaming off his naked body, beautiful like a statue cut in marble. He caught a glimpse of Patrick's cock, hanging between his legs, before Patrick climbed out and wrapped himself in a towel.

Jonny had hated how _disappointed_ he'd felt then. He'd forced himself to never think about it again, because that had been nothing. Just a disappointment.

Now, as he sits in his kitchen five years after that moment with a steaming hot mug of strong black coffee before him and sunshine bright in his eyes, he makes himself think of it. Of what might have happened if he'd actually just - dipped his head and kissed Patrick. He shuts his eyes and visualises that moment where Patrick had seemed to be coming closer to him - almost like he'd wanted to be kissed too, like he'd wanted Jonny to close that gap. And Jonny didn't, because he'd been so afraid Patrick didn't want it.

But what if Patrick _had_ wanted it?

That's a question Jonny's never dared to answer for all these years. But now he's dreaming about Patrick and him being together, dreams that could very well be visions, and he knows now without a doubt what he needs to do. If they're visions, they'll come true anyway in the future, which means there has to be a point where he and Patrick make up - so that point might as well be now.

And if they're just dreams, well - having Patrick as a friend is better than not having Patrick at all.

Jonny stands up and tosses the rest of the coffee into the sink. He has things to do and places to go.

\---

Patrick opens the door, looking rumpled and adorably grouchy. There are still pillow creases on his cheeks; Jonny is suddenly aware of the fact that it's not even 8 a.m. yet, there's no practice today, and Patrick probably intended to sleep in.

"Who the hell - oh," he says when he sees Jonny, and his face closes off so abruptly that it makes Jonny feel sick at heart. _He_ did this, he thinks; he made Patrick look at him like this, like Jonny's someone who - who broke him.

"Patrick - I need to talk to you," Jonny says, the words spilling out of him in a rush. He places one hand on the door in case Patrick tries to shut it in his face.

"That's a joke, right?" Patrick says, sounding derisive. "You refuse to speak to me for three months, and then when you decide you want to, you show up at my house, wake me up, and expect me to bend over backward to accommodate you?"

"I need to apologise," Jonny says. "But more than that - I need to explain. Please. Give me a chance to just - explain why I've been acting the way I did."

"Three fucking months," Patrick repeats. He looks Jonny in the eye, and Jonny can see a glint of anger in the ice blue. "You don't get to decide when you want to speak to me, Jonny. I'm not a fucking toy for you to jerk around - "

"I know you're not," Jonny says, desperation prickling under his skin. "And I am sorry - I'm so sorry. I was an asshole to you, and you didn't deserve this. I know you're hurt. But please - let me explain, listen to me first, and after that, you can decide if you - want this. Or not. But it wouldn't be right - to not let you know what's been going on."

Patrick bites his lip. Jonny waits, heart hammering in his ribcage, hoping and praying Patrick's not going to tell him to fuck off. He'd deserve it, of course he would, with the way he's treated Patrick, and then turning up at his home like this now, but -

"You have sixty seconds," Patrick says, glowering at him. "And you'd better not give me any bullshit."

"God, no, I won't," Jonny says fervently. "First things first - I'm so sorry for the way I treated you. I was - going through something, which I'm going to explain now, promise - and I was a fucking mess, and it's no excuse, but I shouldn't have done that to you. You're - really important to me, Pat, and I can't lose you, and it's been fucking me up that I pushed you away from me, and more importantly - I hurt you, and I shouldn't have, and I'm sorry."

Patrick looks up at him. His eyes are clear and alert now, but he's still chewing on his lip. "Forty seconds," he says coolly, but Jonny can see the slight tremble in his lower lip.

"I have prophetic dreams sometimes," he says in desperation. "I have dreams - that sometimes tell the future - and I started dreaming of you. Of _us_. And it freaked me out so bad, and that's why I - reacted the way I did."

Patrick's mouth falls open. Jonny waits, and tries to remember how to breathe properly.

"Fuck off," Patrick says at last. "I told you - I said not to give me any bullshit and you're coming up with _this_ as an excuse?"

"I'm not lying," Jonny says. "Look, you can call my mom up and ask her if you don't believe me. She knows about it. It runs in her family. It skipped her, but I have this - ability. And it's the truth. I've never told anyone because - " he pauses to laugh, shakily, and drags a hand down his face. God, he's freaking out now, at the enormity of it, because yeah, he's never told anyone about his power, and now he's standing in front of Patrick's door, unloading it on him. "Because anyone would just have reacted like you're doing now, and I mean. It can be dangerous, kinda. People would want to know what I see, to try to change their futures - they're not supposed to do that."

"This is crazy," Patrick says. "Jonny, I swear to god, tell me the fucking truth - "

"I am!" Jonny says. Fuck, he _has_ to make Patrick understand. "Pat, remember when - in 2013, I told you [ I had a dream you'd win the Conn Smythe](http://darthtulip.tumblr.com/post/92249961495/71914-what-was-your-feeling-that-seminal)?"

Patrick blinks. His throat works for a second, like he's trying to think of how to react, but then he says, "I laughed with you about it after - after I won. I said it was a crazy coincidence and you just nodded. That's all it was. Coincidence."

"Yeah?" Jonny asks; every dream he's had about Patrick is surfacing in his mind now, frantic and fast, a kaleidoscope of images that are still as clear as they were when he'd first dreamed them. "Remember the Minnesota series in 2014? You were saying I had the it factor, that night I scored in OT. And then I told you that [it was gonna be your time](http://peekaaboo.tumblr.com/post/85696216493/uncapitaine-seriously). Remember that? Remember what happened after that? You scored in Game 6, won the series for us. And you know when you weren't scoring against Tampa Bay in the 2015 Cup Final? You had Hedman on you all series, you were frustrated, you couldn't score. And I took you aside and told you before Game 6 that [everything you'd touch tonight would turn to gold](http://pattytkane.tumblr.com/post/121646517653/which-teammate-helped-pull-you-through-the-slump), and it fucking _did._ Do you remember?"

Patrick's mouth is open again as he stares up at Jonny. He's breathing hard enough that Jonny can hear the swoosh of his exhales through his mouth. He's shaking his head slowly at everything Jonny's saying, but there's also a new clarity in his eyes that Jonny can see. He's listening.

"And there was the time before you won the Calder, we were getting interviewed, and you bet me five hundred on air that I'd win the Calder? And I told you no, I wasn't going to take that bet, because [I knew you'd win it](http://peekaaboo.tumblr.com/post/59989255439/i-understand-you-guys-make-a-little-wager-before)? And what about the time I told you to be careful when you played, to not let yourself get stuck in board battles near the boards, especially against teams like the _Panthers_ \- "

"Holy shit," Patrick says faintly. "Kimmo."

It's so random that it throws Jonny for a loop. "What?" he says stupidly. There's only one Kimmo they know - Kimmo Timonen - but they're not talking about _him_ now, he's trying to prove to Patrick he's not lying -

"Kimmo said something, after we won the Cup that year," Patrick says. He's staring straight into Jonny's eyes now, and Jonny can see something that looks like - wonder, maybe, in his, and a tiny spark of hope flares into life in his chest. "He said you came up to him in morning skate and told him [we were going to do it tonight](http://whydisignuponthisgodforsakensite.tumblr.com/post/146726404643/one-of-the-coolest-memories-i-have-of-that-day-is), that you'd raise the Cup at home and you were going to give it to him first after you raised it - "

" _Yeah_ ," Jonny says with emphasis. Truth be told, he'd forgotten it until now that Patrick's brought it up, but whatever makes his case stronger. "I dreamed all that. All of it. I'm telling the truth, and I swear I am."

"Holy fuck," Patrick says. "You - you're serious? This isn't a joke? You're not lying?"

"I can list a thousand other things I dreamed of regarding you, or us, or hockey, that came true," Jonny says. "I've got all fucking day, if you'd let me." And Jonny can tell, from the look on Patrick's face, that Patrick knows it too - that his prodigious memory is pulling up all the times Jonny told him something, casual and throwaway, like it meant nothing, only for it to actually happen.

"I - okay," Patrick says. He sways a little, and Jonny reaches out to catch his arm and pull him close so he can steady him, purely on instinct. The movement forces him to step inside Patrick's apartment and come up closer to Patrick; but Patrick doesn't pull away or order him to step back outside. He gazes up at Jonny, leaning part of his weight against him, and Jonny's just - he's so grateful to be holding Patrick again like this that he feels a little dizzy himself.

"Okay," Patrick says. "Let's just say this - this is true. What's it got to do with - us?"

"Because I started dreaming about us," Jonny says. Quiet, slow, each word dropping like an anchor between them.

Patrick wets his lips - and god, he keeps doing that. It's not helping Jonny's state of mind. "By us - what do you mean? You've - dreamed about me before."

"Yeah, I have, lots of times," Jonny says. "But they were all normal, every day, innocuous things, or hockey things. But I started dreaming of us - being _together_."

Patrick sucks in a quick, shocked breath. "You mean - "

"I dreamed we were married," Jonny says, voice dipping low. His heart is pounding so hard he can hear it in his ears. "I dreamed we had a family, that we had kids. I dreamed of a moment where I asked you to marry me."

Jonny can _feel_ the way Patrick shudders against him, convulsively, like he's been shocked. But he doesn't move away from Jonny. He doesn't shake Jonny's hand off his arm.

"And the thing about my dreams is - I don't know if they'll come true. I dream of a lot of things, and sometimes they come true. Sometimes they don't. And these dreams - they were so far in the future that I couldn't be sure if they'd ever be true. So they made me kind of - messed up. Enough that I thought maybe if I avoided you and stopped talking to you, I'd stop dreaming about you. Stop hoping for something that might not happen. And - well, honestly, I thought there was no way they could come true, because - "

"Because?"

"Because I've loved you since we were kids, and I tried to tell you when we were at the World Juniors, and you said no."

Patrick squeezes his eyes shut and stumbles backwards. "Oh, fuck," he says, putting his hands over his face. Jonny comes all the way into the apartment then, shutting the door behind him, too alarmed to care about whether Patrick's going to kick him out the next moment or not, as Patrick stumbles further into the living room and sinks onto his couch.

Jonny carefully lowers himself onto his knees in front of Patrick. He reaches out to grasp Patrick's hands, squeezing them gently. "I'm sorry," he says.

"No, fuck," Patrick says, blinking his eyes open. He's not crying, not quite, but there's a definite glisten in his eyes. "That's why you just - stopped talking to me and stopped hanging out with me? Because you thought I wouldn't want you back?"

"I - yeah," Jonny says. "I know it's stupid, because I didn't want to lose you as a friend, but I was so messed up and scared of _actually_ losing you, that I thought it was the best course of action until I stopped dreaming about us."

"No," Patrick says again. "Jonny, no - I'm the dumb one. I'm the one who hurt you."

"What?" Jonny says, confused.

"When we were seventeen - when you kissed me - I was just a dumb kid then who didn't know shit. I thought I wasn't into guys. I didn't know what I wanted, and you just kissed me so suddenly I didn't know how to react - and I was too scared to think about it or explore it. I kind of just - shut it away for ages, you know? But then later - when we both came together in Chicago and started being around each other a lot more - I don't know, but I think I kind of - fell in love with you. Except you started dating some girl, and you said you were going to be serious about her - what was her name? Chloe? But when that happened I thought you were way over me, and I realised I couldn't - expect you to wait around for me."

Jonny freezes, thunderstruck. He must not be hearing right. This is the last thing he ever expected Patrick to say.

"I still don't know if I like guys, like, all guys in general, okay?" Patrick's saying, hands plucking at Jonny's fingers, where Jonny's still holding him. "But - I know that I love _you_. You've always been here for me and with me. For everything. And you didn't seem like - I mean, you seemed to be over me, so I figured it was no use bringing it up, especially after you were so hurt by what happened at World Juniors. I tried, I'm not gonna lie - remember Cabo?"

Jonny feels like he can't breathe. His hands are clammy where he's gripping Patrick tightly, but he doesn't want to let go. He just nods, feeling shaky and stunned.

"I wanted to kiss you that night, so badly. But I didn't know if you wanted it. And then I remembered when you kissed me in Sweden, and how I reacted - and it made me feel like shit. So I just - got out of the tub - and decided it was better to forget it, and to never try anything again."

Patrick fixes his glorious blue eyes on him, bright and hopeful. "And then when you started ignoring me - I didn't know _why_ , but I thought it was the end of us, the end of anything that could have started. But - something brought you back. Was it another dream?"

Jonny nods again. "Yeah. I did dream of us again. Just last night."

"What was it?"

Jonny swallows, wondering if he should tell Patrick. But they've come this far and bared their hearts; he thinks it's only right to keep telling Patrick the truth. "I dreamed we were having sex," he says, soft. "You were - you were on top of me, riding me, and you wanted me so badly, and I couldn't fucking get enough of you."

This time, Jonny's not imagining the way Patrick's eyelids flutter, and his tongue slowly swiping over his mouth.

"I'm sorry I hurt you," Patrick finally says. "All these years - we wasted so much time."

"I'm sorry I hurt you too," Jonny repeats. "And no, we didn't waste any time at all - we have a whole future ahead of us, Pat. A really good future. I saw it."

Patrick smiles at him; it literally warms Jonny from head to toe, seeing that smile again. He reaches out to stroke gently down Patrick's cheek with the backs of his knuckles. Patrick turns a little, presses a kiss to his fingers, and Jonny's heart jumps.

"Let's go make your dreams come true," Patrick says, and Jonny can't help but laugh.

\---

Jonny's not laughing now that he's got Patrick naked and spread out on the bed in front of him, all pale skin and chiselled muscle. He's got two fingers knuckle-deep inside Patrick, and the squeeze of Patrick's hole around them, silky-smooth from the amount of lube he'd used, is making him dizzy. The way Patrick's writhing on his fingers, his cock leaking onto his abs, and whimpering with every breath he takes - the same high, pained whimpers he'd made in Jonny's dream - is positively enthralling.

"Give me one more," Patrick says. "Please, Jonny, I want it." And really, who is Jonny to decline such a request.

He slides his fingers out - Patrick keeps staring at them the whole time, his gaze greedy and hot, as Jonny squeezes more lube out onto them. Patrick pulls one leg up to his chest when Jonny presses the tips of three fingers against his hole, opening himself wider, giving Jonny easier access. He's so eager and easy for it that it makes Jonny's cock ache.

"You like this," Jonny says, observing Patrick's eyelids flutter closed as he slides his fingers into his tight warmth, the heaving breath he takes, and the way he pushes his hips upwards into Jonny's hand.

"No shit, Sherlock," Patrick says, but he's smiling with his eyes shut, dimples flashing. "A little deeper - oh fuck, yeah, right there - "

"Here?" Jonny asks, all faux solicitousness, and rubs firmly over the little sensitive knot of nerves inside Patrick.

Patrick's eyes snap open and his spine curves into a gorgeous, perfect arch, lifting him off the bed. "Oh shit - fuck, yes, yeah," he moans, and it's literally the best sound Jonny's ever heard. "Oh god, it's so good." He reaches between his legs and grips Jonny's wrist with both hands, holding him right where he wants him, fingers pressed up against his prostate as he rolls his hips slowly.

"You are so fuckin' hot right now," Jonny says, and is not surprised that the words come out sounding hoarse.

"It's so good," Patrick repeats, blinking hazily at him. His eyes have darkened dramatically from their usual pale blue. "Your fingers - god, if your fingers feel this good, how's your cock gonna feel? It might kill me."

Jonny laughs and bends down to kiss Patrick; he has to fold Patrick at a bit of an awkward angle to reach him, but Patrick doesn't seem to mind as long as Jonny keeps working his prostate like that. Jonny swallows his soft moans with every kiss, licking along Patrick's soft lower lip, drunk on the way Patrick tastes and sounds and feels. "My cock's not going to kill you. Maybe make you pass out, but that's about it."

Patrick kicks him in the back, digging his heel in from where he's wrapped his leg around Jonny's waist. "You smug asshole. Go slow with me, 'kay? I haven't done this before."

"Wait - what," Jonny says. He lifts himself up to stare down at Patrick; it's hard for him to drag his eyes away from Patrick's bitten-red mouth, but he lowers his gaze to where his fingers are deep inside Patrick still, Patrick's rim gleaming with lube and stretched around them beautifully. It's a good view. "What do you mean you've never done this?"

Patrick bites his lip. "I've never, you know, slept with a guy," he admits.

"What - you mean _this_?" Jonny asks, taken aback, and twists his fingers without really thinking about it inside Patrick, rolling them against his prostate.

It's actually really gratifying to see the way Patrick gasp and arch, the flush on his cheeks and chest deepening. "No," Patrick says, when he's caught his breath and is slowly rocking his hips down on Jonny's hand. "I mean - oh, fuck - I've never been fucked before. I've done this, though." And he fucks himself a little harder on Jonny's fingers, as if to punctuate what he said.

Jonny's mind is exploding. "I don't - what do you mean? You've never been fucked but you've done this?" he manages to say, staring at where his fingers are completely swallowed to the knuckle by Patrick's slick, wet rim.

"I've done this to myself," Patrick says, licking his lips, lashes lowered like he's shy.

" _Fuck_ ," Jonny says involuntarily. The thought of Patrick fingering himself - Patrick lying on his bed like this with his knees drawn up, or maybe in his incongruously-huge bathtub with his legs over the sides, fucking himself on his own fingers, gasping as prettily as he's doing right now -

"I did it thinking about you a lot, actually," Patrick says, like he's not melting Jonny's brain here. Jonny's dick literally twitches, and Jonny knows Patrick's staring at it.

"That is - the hottest thing ever," Jonny says. He grasps his cock with his free hand, gives it a few strokes just to ease the pressure; fuck, thinking about all the years when Patrick didn't have this, was fingering himself open thinking about Jonny fucking him - his cock is so hard he thinks it might go off before he wants it to, if he doesn't take the edge off a little first.

Patrick watches him with his mouth half-open, at the way he draws his foreskin down to expose the velvet-pink head of his cock before he grabs the bottle of lube and squeezes some over it - more than he probably needs to use, but now that he knows Patrick's never had an actual cock inside him, _fuck_ , he intends to be careful. He rubs the lube down his dick and over the head, letting the excess liquid drip down and splash over Patrick's ass crack, leak around his fingers and Patrick's hole, before he pulls his fingers out gently, fascinated at the way Patrick's rim clings to them like it doesn't want to let go, like it _wants_ to be filled.

"Gonna fuck me now, yeah?" Patrick says. His voice is soft, his breathing is uneven and quick, but he draws both legs up towards his chest, spreading them wide without fear. The cleft of his ass is glistening with lube.

"Yeah," Jonny says. "I'm going to." His hand is shaking when he takes hold of his cock again and guides it to Patrick's hole, soft and open and waiting for him, because - fuck. He's really going to do this.

The first press of his cock into Patrick is tight, so tight, despite all the lube and stretching. He watches, heat flaring up in his belly, as his cockhead pops past the slippery rim of Patrick's hole, Patrick's rim widening around it, and widening further as Jonny presses in more, slow, steady. Patrick's breathing gets harsher and louder the deeper Jonny goes, until - fuck - until Jonny's all the way in, his thighs pushed flush against the firm globes of Patrick's ass, Patrick contracting and tightening around him with every minute movement, like he's not even aware he's doing it.

"God," Patrick says hoarsely, and Jonny tears his eyes away from where they're joined, looks at him to make sure he's okay. Patrick's eyes are shut, but they flutter open in a moment and fix on Jonny's, looking blown and bleary. "Jonny - god, you're so big."

Jonny stops. His cock is snug inside Patrick, all tight wet heat, Patrick's rim straining around the base, and there's nothing more his body wants than to start moving, fucking him hard; but he holds himself back, a little worried. "Should I pull out?"

"No, no way," Patrick says. He lifts his hips a little and Jonny's cock slips in another half an inch, punching the breath out of him. "I didn't say I don't like it. It's good. It just feels so - "

"So?"

"So _full_ ," Patrick says, throat raspy with want. "But so good."

Jonny swallows. He feels overheated all over, hot with Patrick's obvious desire, the tight clutch of Patrick around his cock. "Should I keep going?"

"Yes," Patrick says with emphasis. "Fuck me, I want to come on your cock."

Jonny groans. "Oh my god," he says. "Keep talking like that and I don't know if I can hold out."

Patrick dimples up at him. "We won't find out unless you start moving."

And - fine, Jonny's not going to turn down a challenge like that.

He starts slow at first, very conscious of the fact that this is Patrick's first, but Patrick's body yields to him so beautifully; his hole loosens from its vise grip as Jonny smoothly, slowly, fucks in and out of him, until Jonny feels like he's fucking pure silk, Patrick sopping wet with the amount of lube they've used and Jonny's cock stretching him out.

"Can I - go faster?" he asks. He's dripping sweat already, holding himself rigid above Patrick, telling himself to go slow, counting off the damn alphabet in his head so he won't lose it and go too hard before Patrick's ready.

"Fuck, _yes_ ," Patrick hisses. He hooks his hands behind his own knees and pulls his legs back impossibly further; Jonny feels his cock slide in even deeper and almost groans. "Do it."

Jonny doesn't need telling twice.

He curls his hands around Patrick's ankles, pushing back enough that Patrick's hips roll slightly up and off the bed, and then he drags his cock out until the very tip of it is holding Patrick's hole open and Patrick's practically writhing on it; and then he fucks back in, quick and devastating and hard, driving with perfect precision into Patrick so that the thick shaft of his cock drags relentlessly over his prostate as he fucks in and out.

Patrick's whimpering again, sounding like the air's being punched out of him each time Jonny thrusts in, but his cock is swollen full and dark red and shiny-wet at the tip. He's not even touching it, his hands at his sides and screwing into the bedsheets instead. Jonny finds himself wishing he could bend down and lick it, but he focuses on fucking Patrick as deep as he can go, setting a steady, fast rhythm, listening for the moans that drop from Patrick's lips that tell him he's fucking Patrick just right.

"Oh god," Patrick's chanting, "oh god, don't stop, don't stop - "

Jonny would rather die before he stops.

He puts his back into it, pounding Patrick with all the power of his thighs, holding Patrick's legs open and spread by his ankles just so he can watch the gloriously obscene, eye-wateringly hot sight of his cock pumping into Patrick's tight little hole, over and over, how it stretches and gapes to accommodate the girth of his cock; and how much Patrick fucking loves it, his nipples swollen as well and his dick leaking a steady drip-drip of precome onto his abs, how he whines and gasps and begs for Jonny to give him more, harder, deeper. He keeps tensing his glutes so his hole tightens and contracts around Jonny each time, and fuck, but he's going to make Jonny come faster than he thought he would.

"Please, Jonny, _more_ ," Patrick chokes out, gasping and shivering and lifting his hips even higher, like he's trying to work more of Jonny inside him, even though there's no room for Jonny to go any deeper. He plants his knees in the mattress and fucks in, hard, unrelenting, listening to Patrick's little cries rise in pitch, the sound of his thighs smacking into Patrick's ass with each thrust loud in the room. Jonny distantly wonders if Patrick's thighs will be red and sore and marked up after this. Maybe they will. He hopes they will.

"So good," Patrick's saying, "yeah, yes, just like this, so fucking _good_ at this - "

Jonny wants to fuck him until he can't see straight; and that's exactly what he does, fucking in hard enough for his thrusts to push Patrick up the bed, up against the headboard, and Patrick has to reach one arm out to brace himself against it. But this gives him leverage to push back against Jonny as well, and he shoves himself on Jonny's cock with a desperation Jonny's never seen, working himself on it.

It's too much for Jonny, especially with the way Patrick's hole is squeezing down on him like it's eager to milk every drop of come from him. Jonny can't hold it anymore, no fucking counting or alphabet reciting can hold this orgasm back from him, and it rolls over him with a strength that stuns him. He comes _hard_ with a shout, his body shaking apart inside Patrick, shooting pulse after pulse of come into him that makes everything a thousand times wetter and hotter and slicker and smoother.

"Oh fuck," he gasps as he comes down. He's got just enough presence of mind to hold himself over Patrick instead of just collapsing on top of him, and he stays there, shaking with the aftershocks, his cock still hard and snug inside Patrick. "Fuck - I didn't mean to come first - "

"No - no, it's good, I'm close too," Patrick gasps, and Jonny registers that he's rolling his hips on his dick, working it against his prostate, fucking himself hard on it. His cock is red and dripping still, as hard as Jonny's ever seen it. "Jonny - kiss me."

Jonny bends over him right away, folding him almost in half, spreading him wide around his body, and kisses him like he wants, swallows all his moans and gasps and little heaving breaths. Patrick kisses him back greedily, licking into his mouth, sucking on the tip of his tongue; and Jonny feels his whole body tense up underneath him, his hole clenching tight.

"Fuck, I'm coming," Patrick groans into his mouth, "you're making me come so hard - shit - "

He pulls away to give a garbled shout as his toes curl in the air and his body arches off the bed; Jonny pushes himself upright just so he can watch Patrick come, completely untouched. His cock swells before he shoots the first pulse of come, hard enough for it to hit his chin, before the next streaks across his chest and nipple. Jonny can't help himself; he grips Patrick's asscheeks, spreads them apart, and watches the way his hole clenches rhythmically around his still-hard cock, cataloguing them alongside the way it feels to be inside Patrick as his hole squeezes him in tandem with what he's looking at, and fuck, fuck, it wasn't even a particularly wild fuck but watching Patrick come on his cock is the hottest damn thing Jonny's ever seen in his life.

"Oh my god," Patrick gasps, his curls matted to his forehead from sweat. His cock pulses a last few weak dribbles of come onto his belly; he's so messed up with stripes of come covering him from chin to stomach, but he looks debauched and gorgeous and Jonny just _wants_. "Shit - come here, Jonny."

Jonny registers that he's still holding Patrick's legs up. "Oh," he says dumbly, and lowers them gently on either side of him; Patrick scrunches up his face a little, like he's sore. When Jonny carefully lets his softening cock slide out of Patrick, a gush of come follows, leaking onto the sheets in a puddle beneath Patrick's ass. The rim of Patrick's hole is a little swollen, visibly stretched and loose. The whole image of his opened hole and Jonny's own come leaking from it hits Jonny with another slug of heat and want.

"Come here," Patrick says again, slurring slightly, dislodging Jonny from his thoughts. Jonny crawls over his body, bracketing him in, and dips his head to kiss him. It's soft and sweet this time, nothing like the desperate urgency of earlier, and Patrick starts laughing into his mouth, sounding slightly loopy.

"You okay there?" Jonny asks, smiling against Patrick's lush, red lips.

"Yeah," Patrick murmurs. He's so out of it that his mouth is slack against Jonny's and he's not quite kissing back as much as just sucking lazily on Jonny's lower lip, but Jonny likes it. "Think you blew my mind."

"Think you blew mine," Jonny replies, chuckling in return. He feels so relaxed and satiated that he thinks he could sleep for a year, just like this, with Patrick warm against his chest, fitting with him like he was always meant to be.

Patrick flaps a hand at him until Jonny reaches out and grabs hold of it, tucking it between their bodies, and holds it against his chest. "When can we do it again?"

Jonny laughs. "Later," he says, kissing Patrick again. He pulls away to press more kisses on Patrick's blissful, perfect face; the tip of his nose, his forehead, his closed eyelids, back to his lips. "We have our whole lives to do whatever you want."

"That sounds perfect," Patrick says, smiling, fitting himself closer against Jonny's body. "The rest of our lives. I like that."

 

***

 

_epilogue_

 

Jonny's sipping his smoothie when Patrick sets his plate of eggs down and climbs onto the stool opposite him. "Okay, after breakfast, I'm going to drive out and grab a few things we still need for Cabo," he says. "What time are you going to pick the kids up?"

"In about an hour, I think," Jonny says. "Maman said she'd make breakfast for the kids, and then call me when they're dressed and ready. Oh, yeah, while you're out, can you get - "

"More of the Babyganics sunscreen? Yeah, it's on my list."

"I was going to say lube," Jonny says, grinning.

Patrick rolls his eyes at Jonny. "I already bought extra and packed it, you dork."

This conversation strikes Jonny as a little strange suddenly. He feels like he's heard this before, for some reason; he sifts through his mind for it, frowning. There's a familiarity about it that makes him think he's had this same conversation with Patrick long ago - but that can't be, because they only planned their trip earlier this year -

It dawns on him then: 2019. The first dream he'd ever had of him and Patrick being married and together. The feeling of deja vu that washes over him is so strong that he has to put his glass down and clench his fists, digging his nails into his palms. He blinks down at his smoothie, wondering if this is a second dream. It had been a dream then, but what if -

What if he's still dreaming?

Patrick can clearly see something's wrong, because he puts his forkful of eggs down. "What's wrong?" he asks, eyeing Jonny warily.

"Pinch me," Jonny says, trying to steady his breathing. He looks around the kitchen, at this bright, beautiful home they've built in Winnipeg, at Patrick opposite him wearing nothing but Jonny's shorts, at their _life_ and happiness together.

"What are you talking about?"

"Just come over and pinch me. As hard as you can," Jonny says. He feels a little dizzy. He's been so happy but this _can't_ be another dream, because he can't lose Patrick or the children. He can't.

"What? Why?"

"Because I need to know this isn't a dream," Jonny says in a rush. "I told you before. I dreamed about us doing this - this exact thing, right here."

Patrick's eyebrows knit together in a deep, concerned frown for a couple of seconds, and then his eyes widen. "Do you mean - wait, so _this_ moment was one of the dreams you had, that made us get our shit together way back?"

"Yeah," Jonny says. His heart is pounding fast in his chest. "So come over and pinch me. I need to know I'm not dreaming and all this is real."

Patrick slides off his stool and strides over to him; but instead of pinching him, he reaches out and draws Jonny into a hug. Their kitchen stools are tall enough that that they're the same height when Jonny's sitting on one and Patrick's standing next to him like this, and it allows Jonny to nuzzle into Patrick's neck, to take deep, soothing breaths of Patrick's scent, so dear and familiar from years and years of waking up next to him, with Patrick tucked in his arms.

"I promise you," Patrick says softly into his ear, "this isn't a dream. I'm your husband, and we've been married fifteen years, and we have three amazing children, and right now we're going on a family trip to Cabo to celebrate our wedding anniversary. And we're in love, and I love you. This is real."

He pulls back a little so he can look Jonny in the eye. "You got that? This isn't a dream. It's just your dream come true." He kisses Jonny, sweet and gentle; he tastes of salt and cream from his eggs and it helps to ground Jonny, bring him back down to earth, ease that expanding knot of panic blooming in his ribcage. You can't taste anything in dreams, but Patrick's here, tasting of the eggs and of himself, like Jonny knows so well.

"Yeah," Jonny breathes, cupping Patrick's cheek, kissing him back. "You're right."

Patrick smiles at him, his dimples popping; and then without warning, he pinches Jonny's nipple, so quick that Jonny doesn't even notice his hand move.

"Ow!" Jonny says, rubbing his palm over the tweaked spot. "You asshole."

Patrick laughs. "See? _Real._ "

Jonny sneaks a pinch in return, right on the fleshy swell of Patrick's ass, and Patrick rolls his eyes at him. "Finish your smoothie and get dressed so you can get the kids when Maman calls. This is real life, buddy, you don't get to shirk your parental responsibilities."

"Yeah, yeah," Jonny says. He presses a quick kiss to Patrick's dimple and gets another pleased grin in return.

It's good. His life is really good. Jonny's grateful.


End file.
